“Antique gold,” Brodin, our dwarf, whispered when he looked into the fallen dwarf’s pouch. The dead dwarf’s body lay encircled by the slain bodies of a half-score of goblins.
“Antique gold?” I snickered.
“Don’t scoff, human,” Brodin said, “It’s very rare and coveted fiercely by my kind. Murderously.”
He turned over a goblin body. “In fact, these aren’t goblins.” I looked down at the bearded face. “They’re dwarves. A vengeance posse.”
I looked into Brodin’s steely eyes under his thick, wiry brows. “A vengea…?” His stubby finger held aloft silenced me.
“If we carry this,” he said, holding up the pouch, “we will be hunted. If we live, we will need lifetimes to spend our wealth.”
It was then that our party began to break into factions…